The Strength of Heart
by LSMunch
Summary: Think about the love inside the strength of heart, Think about the heroes saving life in the dark, Climbing higher through the fire, Time was running out, Never knowing you weren't going to be coming down alive
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Title is from the Yellowcard song "Believe." The opening line is from some commercial I saw. Oh, and SVU does not belong to me. Liam's mine though.

* * *

"Shoot me. I'm not afraid to die."

His grip on the gun faltered, every so slightly.

"Go ahead." Arms spread wide, it was a challenge.

The gun steadied again, but John held no fear. He had been inside this man's head and knew that today was not his day to die.

"Come on, Liam. Shoot me."

John heard a voice buzz in his ear. "We're taking him out."

Knowing that they could see him, John jerked his head to the right. _Not now,_ he thought.

"My men have a clear shot and I've authorized them to take it."

Another jerk of his head, more insistent this time. If only he could communicate verbally with the feds waiting outside...

"What are they doing out there?" asked Liam.

_God damn them_. "They're getting excited, that's all."

"Excited?"

"C'mon, Liam, you know they're not going to do anything. They're just backup is all."

A shot rang out. Liam's head snapped to the left.

"God damn it!"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So, this chapter gets a little crazy. Switches POV quite often. Anyway, enjoy

* * *

"We've got a 60 year old male, gunshot wound to the chest. ETA is ten minutes."

* * *

"Liam Connors, you're under arrest for the attempted murder of Sergeant John Munch. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one, one will be provided. Do you understand?" 

The slide and click of handcuffs.

"Yes."

* * *

"He told you not to shoot!" 

"He didn't _tell_ me anything," the burly man growled back.

"You know as well as I that that," the captain pointed to the monitor, which was replaying the moment before his sergeant was shot, "meant for you to back the hell off."

"Yeah, well, lot of good it did him, didn't it?"

* * *

"He's bleeding out!"

* * *

Pain seared through his chest, as if someone had reached in and seized his heart in a death grip. He yelled out in pain. 

"The fuck is going on back there?" Elliot turned back to look at their prisoner.

* * *

"Johnny?" The voice was distant, but getting nearer. He struggled to open his eyes, but couldn't. "Johnny?" 

A flash of white light, burning hot.

Then images, flashing, nearly too fast to process.

Gun.

Doctor.

Mother.

Girl.

Bed.

Sobbing.

Necklace.

Apartment.

Bike.

Laughing.

Badge.

Handcuffs.

Gun.

_Liam._

* * *

Another shout. Agony, unadulterated pain swept through him again. If it weren't for the handcuffs binding his hands behind his back, he would be clawing at his chest. 

"Liv, we better get him to the hospital." His voice was urgent.

This time a scream. He couldn't hold it in; it burst from him like the bullet that pierced John.

"Don't you die on us now, you son of a bitch," Elliot threatened.

* * *

"We're losing him!"

* * *

He stood for a moment, knowing that the picture before him would be forever in his memory. 

The carpet was soaked with blood and medical detritus littered the area. The window in the background was broken, signaling the entrance of a second bullet.

The bullet that missed Liam Connors.

* * *

A scream ripped through the emergency room and Liam arched his back on the stretcher, writhing. 

"What's wrong with him?" shouted a nurse.

"I don't know. He just started shouting in the back of our car. Sounded like he was in a lot of pain, and he didn't look so good."

"Get him into exam 3!" yelled the nurse as Liam let out another unearthly sound.

* * *

"What the hell?" 

The doctor looked up for a brief moment at the heart monitor. The beats held no pattern, simply dancing across the screen of their own accord.

* * *

He had stopped screaming, and the pain had lessened somewhat. Now, he was breathing heavily. 

Staring at the doctor leaning over him he said haltingly, "Kill ... me ... now."

* * *

The white light had subsided and was now a dim glow. It was better than the blazing light of earlier, and he embraced it.

* * *

"He's stabilizing, doctor." 

"Good, I've got the bullet."

* * *

"_Liam."_


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Going to try and get this story restarted here. Got a few chapters waiting in the wings and will be working on some more hopefully. Any commentary is welcome, within reason of course.

* * *

He was covered in sweat, and no longer did he feel pain. Instead, it was a dull ache in his chest, throbbing gently in time with his heart. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, his breath shuddering a bit, but more steady on the exhale. Tear tracks ran from the corners of his eyes and down into his close cropped hair. A chill ran over him.

"You wanna blanket?" asked the officer standing guard. His voice was gruff, matching his weathered face well.

Liam nodded, incapable of words just yet. He watched as the officer snagged a passing nurse, who fetched a blanket from a metal cabinet.

"Thanks." The officer took the blanket and walked over to Liam as he unfolded it. Then, he neatly draped it over Liam's body, and Liam closed his eyes as he felt its gentle warmth. He nodded in thanks and listened to the officer walk away.

* * *

"How is he?" The question was urgent, and the doctor looked at the four eager cops in front of him.

"He's fine, for now. We got the bullet out. I see no reason why his condition should deteriorate."

"Can we see him?"

"He isn't awake yet, but yes, one at a time."

Three cops departed, leaving the eldest behind. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Can I have a word with you?" asked the doctor quietly, placing his hand on the captain's arm.

Cragen nodded and the doctor led him into what appeared to be the nurses's break room. He shut the door.

"I'm not sure what it was, but while we were operating, something... strange happened." He paused, unsure of how to explain the phenomenon, as well as unsure of how the captain would take the news. "Your sergeant's heart wasn't beating entirely regularly. There was no pattern to it at all, and it was extremely fast. Now, there is a possibility it was our machine, but I highly doubt it."

Cragen was silent.

"Judging by the speed of the beats, and their irregularity, he should be dead by all rights. How he survived... I don't know. I've never seen anything like this. Not with drugs, not with heart conditions, not with trauma. We could run some tests, but I'm not sure they'll turn up anything. I'll be sharing this with a friend of mine who's a cardiologist. I just thought you should know as well."

"Thank you, Doctor."

The doctor nodded and left Cragen alone in the dim room.

* * *

"Hello?"

The voice seemed on the phone seemed strained. "Hi, this is Captain Cragen with the NYPD Special Victims Unit. Is Bernard Munch there?"

"Yes, hold on a minute." Marianne gripped the phone tightly as she walked into the living room where her husband was watching television with their son Ben. "Bernie."

He turned around. "Yeah?"

"John's captain is on the phone."

The smile faded from his face and his eyes slid down to an unknown point on the wall behind his wife.

Marianne walked over. "Bernie," she said softly. "The phone."

He took it and Marianne took the remote from the coffee table and shut off the television.

"Hello?" She heard her husband's voice crack.

"Mr. Munch, there's no easy way to tell you this... Your brother has sustained a gunshot wound to his chest. The bullet nicked his heart. The doctors have removed the bullet, and he's stable now."

Bernie swallowed hard. "Is he going to be okay?"

"The doctors say there's no reason for any negative change in his condition."

Bernie didn't say anything, and there were tears running down his face.

"Mr. Munch?" The voice on the phone seemed to swoop down at him from someplace far away.

"Y... yes?"

"I'd be glad to make hotel reservations for you."

"Please."

"All right, then I'll see you relatively soon. Do you have a cell phone I can call if anything changes?"

"Yes, just a minute." Bernie set the phone down next to him on the couch.

"Dad?"

Bernie shook his head and tried to regain his composure.

"Dad, is everything okay?" There was fear and worry in his son's voice.

"Uncle John's been shot. He's okay for now. We're leaving in the next hour. Go pack some things." He sniffed and squeezed his eyes shut as Marianne and Ben quickly left the room. Then, he picked up the phone again.

* * *

"John?"

He was sitting in the living room of his childhood home. Before him sat his father.

"Good, you're awake."

"He shot me." It was a stark statement. John couldn't believe Liam had actually pulled the trigger.

"He didn't want to."

John looked down at himself. He was clothed in his normal attire of a black suit and dark shirt. The missing weight of his Glock upset him slightly, and he wondered where it could be.

"Don't worry, they've got all your things."

He looked up at his father. "I'm not dead." There was no question in his voice; he knew it to be fact.

"Nope, thank goodness."

A silence stretched out before them as John looked around. It was exactly as he remembered it, down to the blood spattered across the wall next to the mantle. That was always how he remembered it, as the scene where his father had blown his brains out. His mother had wiped to blood off years ago, but it was the only way he ever pictured it. For a moment, John thought that maybe he was here for his father to explain why he had taken his own life, but in the next moment, he knew that he would only be partial to that information when he actually kicked the bucket. This was not the right time. He would have to wait for another day, hopefully far in the future.

"Why did Liam shoot me?" John finally asked, for it seemed to be appropriate all of a sudden.

"Because he had to."

"He was going to surrender any moment. I'd waved the feds off. Cragen backed me up, they wouldn't have shot." He wasn't aware of how exactly he knew this last piece of information, but he accepted it without question.

"Yes, all true. And he did surrender, right after he pulled the trigger."

"But he wasn't in any danger."

"No, he wasn't."

John was becoming frustrated. "Then why did he shoot me?"

"He had to."

"What does that mean?"

"You already know that you two are connected. That was how you were able to see his confession, rather than hear it."

"He didn't confess."

"To you he did. He allowed you to see everything. Wouldn't you call that confessing?"

John looked at the man across from him and realized for the first time just how much he resembled his father. His mother had been convinced of that fact for years, but John had never seen it until now.

"There is a bond, not only between your minds, but between your hearts as well. Both of you were well aware of the connection of the minds, but the connection between your hearts remained unknown to the both of you."

"What do you mean our hearts are connected?"

"One cannot live without the other. They depend on each other for survival. At times, the connection can be felt by one or both parties. Recently, Liam has been experiencing this, and believed you to be the cause of it. It was not a pleasant feeling that you shared with him, either, and so he deduced that he must kill you in order to stop the pain he felt."

"Wait. How do you mean I shared unpleasant feelings with him?"

His father looked at him for a moment before answering. "You have been dwelling on what has happened to Liam, no?"

John nodded.

"Well, you ache for him. Even after all your years as a police officer, you can't help but wonder how anyone could commit such acts, nor can you help but wonder how anyone could survive such acts. It is both a triumph and a failing."

That made sense, which surprised John slightly. By aching for Liam, the connection surged, thus allowing Liam to feel it. But he, John, would not feel the connection, just the ache thinking of Liam had induced. He could imagine that feeling a connection such as theirs would hurt immensely. If in Liam's situation, he too might have reached the same conclusion: his tormenter needed to die. However, he was not in Liam's position, nor had he ever been. So did that mean that Liam felt nothing for him? Or did it mean that Liam did not know enough to feeling anything for him?

"Yes, that's right. You two haven't known each other for long. And in your short time together, you have held a position which allows you to know of him, but not the other way around."

Just then, John thought of something. "I'm not dead." He said it as he had said it earlier, without question. "This connection, it kept me alive, even though the bullet hit my heart."

"Again, correct." There was a pause in which John was thinking and his father gathering courage. "You always were a smart boy."

John started at this, but the lure of knowledge was stronger at the moment and the moment rolled off him. "I think I felt him. When the doctors were operating. He was in a lot of pain. He was screaming..." The thoughts came to him like sluggish memories. "He's okay now though." Silence again, in which John listened to the beating of his heart. "I can feel him now. With my heart."

"He gave part of himself to you, to save you. And himself." There were tears in his father's eyes, but John didn't notice them.

"I'll always feel him."

His father nodded, and a tear fell. Before John could say anymore, the room and his father vanished and he was left alone.

* * *

"Mr. Munch," Cragen greeted and shook hands with the surprisingly young man before him. "Mrs. Munch." He shook Marianne's hand as well.

"How is he?" Bernie asked anxiously.

"He's fine. He has yet to wake up, but that's to be expected. You can go in to see him, if you'd like," the captain said in anticipation of the next question. "One at a time though."

Bernie looked at his wife, who nodded. "Go ahead, I'll wait here with Ben."

The walk down the hallway seemed immeasurably long and he found his brother's room by the gathering of cops outside the door.

"Excuse me," he said, and they parted for him.

The steady beat of the heart monitor assaulted Bernie's ears, along with the hum of a few other machines. For a moment, he was paralyzed by the sight of his big brother laying so pale among the white sheets.

"You must be John's brother."

The voice startled him and he looked to the far side of the bed where a black man with a ponytail had been sitting. He had risen in greeting.

"Yes, I am."

"Fin Tutuola. I'm John's partner."

"He's mentioned. I'm Bernie."

"Wish we coulda met under better circumstances."

"Me, too."

"Anyway, I'll leave you with your brother."

Bernie nodded as his gaze slid back to John. "Thanks."

Fin nodded as if to say "of course" and then left the room. Bernie vaguely heard him ushering the others away and down the hallway.

Walking over, Bernie placed his hands on the rail of his brother's bed and looked for some sign of life besides the constant beeping of the heart monitor. John's face remained blank though, no matter how hard Bernie looked at him.

"Should be glad Mom isn't still alive. She'd have a heart attack. Never liked it much that you were a cop."

He wished desperately that John could hear him somehow and respond. Even a teasing remark would be welcome now. Anything was better than this silence that was so uncharacteristic of his older brother. He knew, however, that it would be a while before he heard anything in that teasing tone so often directing at him.

Eyes sliding again, they came to rest on the lump beneath the polka dotted hospital gown his brother now wore. He knew that that lump was the bandaging that concealed the bullet hole. Tears pricked his eyes again, but he couldn't shift his gaze from John's chest. The gauze at the middle of the pile of bandaging was probably soaked with blood and soon the nurses would come to change it. Bernie wondered if they had changed it once already since the surgery. It had been a few hours, and he supposed it was possible.

Finally closing his eyes, Bernie sat in the chair opposite the one Fin had vacated and rested his head on the rail of the bed.

* * *

A new officer had replaced the obvious veteran that had been his guard since he arrived. Liam noted the fact that he looked a lot less seasoned and wondered if this was one of his very first assignments. Then, he had fallen back to sleep.

No one had come to speak with him except for a public defender who had told him to keep his mouth shut, and that the police would not be doing any questioning until the next day. Liam had nodded and not said a word more than was necessary. The public defender, who's name he couldn't quite remember, had left shortly and Liam didn't look forward to her return the next day.

Liam was very happy to not have experienced any severe pain since his arrival. There was still that dull ache, but he suspected that it would be that way for a while. At one point, there had been a strong tingling sensation and he nearly panicked for he did not wish in the slightest to relive the searing pain he had felt shortly after being arrested. That had been unbearable and had made him want death to embrace him more than ever. He remembered even asking the doctor to take his life, anything to make the pain go away. Looking back, he was lucky that the doctor didn't heed his request.

Others, knowing that they no longer hurt, might have thought their tormentor to have died. There was no doubt in Liam's mind, however, that John lived. He knew by the dull ache, as well as by the severe pain of earlier, that John Munch was alive, if not entirely well.

And for some reason Liam did not know, this made him content.


End file.
